Fireflies and Magnolias

by Ava Miles

  The round woman with soft blond hair meant every word—of that she had no doubt. Clayton could learn something from her enthusiasm.

  “I’m so happy to be helping out. I wanted to chat with Clayton about the concert. Is he around?”

  “Yes’m. He just came in, the poor boy. It’s the anniversary of his daddy’s death today. God rest his soul. He and his mama go to his gravesite every year. It’s the sweetest thing, if you ask me, especially after all this time.”

  “I didn’t know that,” she said, wondering if she should leave. If he was in a funk, she wasn’t sure how he’d react to her presence. But another part of her whispered that she should stay and comfort him if he’d allow it.

  “Would it be better if I came back another day?” she asked directly.

  “Goodness, no. He’ll be happy to see a friendly face and talk some business. No one works harder around here than that man, save his mama, but with Georgia leaving… Well, they’re big shoes to fill.”

  Amelia Ann nodded her head, wondering if Clayton planned to hire a deputy for himself once his mama retired. “Georgia will be missed. That’s for sure.”

  “I hear she’s leaving right after Christmas. Plans to spend the holiday with Clayton and then she’s off to the sunny state of Florida. She’ll be in a bikini as soon as the weather warms. She’s not a chicken when it comes to strutting her stuff, that girl.”

  Thinking about Georgia in a bikini almost made Amelia Ann laugh. Mrs. Augusta would have had some stern words for any woman nearing sixty who flaunted her stuff in public with nothing on except for a few scraps of fabric. She tried to imagine her mama wearing a bikini. The idea was so ludicrous her shoulders shook from suppressed laughter.

  “Who’s wearing a bikini?” Clayton asked, appearing in the hallway.

  His eyes slid over her frame, and she knew he was imagining her in one. She let her eyes graze over him too, from his gray cowboy boots, up his black pants, to the white dress shirt with the sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows.

  “Your mama,” the older woman told him, resting her hands under her ample bosom.

  He shuddered. “June, I love you to death, but never ever put that image in a son’s head. Mine might simply explode.”

  “Can’t have that,” the woman sassed back. “Amelia Ann is here, Clayton.”

  “I can see that. I heard y’all cackling all the way back in my office.”

  Cackling? “I’m sorry we disturbed you,” Amelia Ann said stiffly. “I was hoping to talk with you briefly about the concert.”

  “Which one? I’m managing about four new cities on Rye’s summer tour right now.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “The one I’m volunteering for, of course. Can we chat for a sec?”

  His silver eyes turned frosty. “I can spare you five minutes.”

  Walking past him on her way to his office, she flicked a glance over her shoulder. “Then I’ll have to talk fast, won’t I?” I know you don’t want me here, but too bad.

  Clayton’s corner office had masculine appeal with its dark wood and burgundy leather furnishings. A ficus tree shedding leaves stood in the corner, and the mother-in-law’s tongue near his desk reached for the ceiling with its thick, glossy green-striped leaves. June had to be the one keeping the plants alive, she decided.

  The caramel-colored leather couch against the wall seemed the coziest place for their conversation, although she suspected he’d prefer they speak at his four-person meeting table in front of the window, which featured a beautiful view of Nashville’s downtown and the Cumberland River.

  “Is this to be the beginning of more spontaneous visits to the office by your sweet self?” he asked in a dry tone, leaving the door open. “If so, we’re going to have to schedule them in the future.”

  Her patience was fraying like a tattered rug, so she took a deep breath as she set her satchel down on the coffee table. “Clayton, June told me it’s the anniversary of your dad’s death. I’m sorry for coming on a difficult day.”

  He looked at the floor to avoid her gaze. “It was years ago. I’m fine.”

  But he wasn’t. No matter how hard he tried to school his expression, she could see how tense his features were today—like the grief over all these years had tightened the muscles in his face to the point of breaking.

  Before she knew it, she was off the couch and standing in front of him. “I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry for it.”

  She lifted a hand to his jaw, and for a moment, those stormy gray eyes of his locked with hers. His skin was smooth to the touch, and wanting to comfort, she stepped closer. His fingers curled around her wrist and brought her hand away from his face. He held onto her though, as if he were fighting with himself about whether to reject her touch.

  “You’re taking advantage,” he murmured.

  Her head slowly shook. “No, I’m only trying to be sweet to you. I don’t like to see you hurting like this.”

  He dropped his hold on her and walked across the room to a small mini-fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, then drank deeply from it. That he didn’t offer her a beverage was telling.

  Standing across the office from him felt awkward, and she shifted on her feet. “You comforted me when I needed it. I wanted to do the same for you.”

  “I don’t want comfort from you or anyone. I told you I was fine. Now, tell me what you need to know. Your five minutes are almost up.”

  His hardness was so daunting, and at times like this, she wanted to give up on him, on them, on everything she thought they could be.

  “I simply need to know how much time you can schedule into the concert for the women’s stories. I can’t move forward with the arrangements without knowing.”

  He set his empty water bottle aside. “I’m sorry I was short with you. Please, sit down.”

  The apology soothed her some, but when she resumed her seat on the couch, he didn’t sit beside her. Honestly she wasn’t the least bit surprised. The man always avoided being close to her, almost as if he were afraid of what he might do.

  “I think we’ll go with three women’s stories at four minutes apiece. Otherwise, the fans will get itchy. We’ll play them at different intervals in the concert. I need to discuss the timing with Rye.”

  The three women she chose would have to represent all the women who had experienced domestic violence. How was she supposed to decide? Well, she just would, that’s all.

  “That sounds reasonable. I’ve written up a one pager about what we’re looking for. I assume you want to see it.”

  “You assume correctly. Anything related to the concert crosses my desk. Including this.”

  She nodded. “Fine. I’ll email it to you when I add the information about the time allotted for the spots. You can add any additions in Track Changes.” Her mouth twitched. “You do know how to use Track Changes, right?”

  His eye roll was rather sexy, and she realized she was flirting with him now.

  “Like a pro, princess. Now, let’s talk specifics since we didn’t at your brother’s house. Who are you planning to contact, and what’s your process for narrowing the search?”

  His questions weren’t unexpected. “As I told you and Rye before, I’ll meet with the heads of the women’s shelters. If you can believe it, there are only four main ones in the Nashville area, which isn’t nearly enough to support the need out there. Clayton, you wouldn’t believe how many women have nowhere to go when they’re being abused.”

  “And it breaks your heart,” he said in a soft voice. Somehow she knew he wasn’t making fun of her this time.

  “Yes, it does. I wish I could build hundreds of shelters. Every time I see a woman with bruises, all I can think of is Tammy and how I wasn’t there for her when she needed me.” Then she almost slapped her hand to her mouth, fearing she’d given away too much. Please don’t ask me where I’m seeing women with bruises.

  He crossed the room, reluctance clear in his halting step, and sat next to her on t
he sofa. “She’s safe now, Amelia Ann.”

  But she hadn’t been. And Rory or Annabelle had been in danger too. “I know that, but it doesn’t change the past.”

  Sitting next to her, his gray eyes met hers squarely. “What could you have done differently, sugar? If she’d been ready for help, she would have said something.”

  “You don’t understand. She couldn’t have said anything to me because we never talked about anything.” Her voice had risen, and the strain in it threatened to rip open her throat.

  “But you do now, and that’s what matters.”

  That’s what she tried to tell herself each day. She was there for her sister now…and she was using her expertise to help other women who were in difficult situations.

  “You really do have a heart of gold, don’t you?” he asked softly.

  His knee was mere inches from her own, and she wanted to shift and touch him so they could form another small connection. “I’m not a saint, Clayton. I have plenty of flaws.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I bet you’ve never done a bad thing in your whole life.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t speak. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  His scrutiny made her nervous, and she could tell he wanted to press her for more information. So she picked up her satchel and rose. This time she would be the one to do the running away. “Thank you for the information. I’ll send you the email later tonight.”

  “What are you hiding?” he asked, standing up, towering over her. “I can’t imagine you doing anything bad.”

  This was not a conversation she intended to continue. “I believe my five minutes are over. I’ll let you get back to work.”

  His hand curved around her arm, holding her in place. At his touch, immediate warmth pooled in her belly and lower.

  “Times like this, you’re the most mysterious woman I’ve ever met.”

  A reluctant snort escaped her mouth. Mrs. Augusta would have been horrified. “If you think I’m mysterious, you need to get out more.”

  His chuckle stirred the hairs on the back of her neck.

  “Honey, I get out plenty, but you…you seem so innocent, and then you up and tell me you’ve done bad things. Are we talking men here?”

  “You know we aren’t!” And she tilted her eyes up to his to see if he could possibly have been serious. Doing so was a mistake. He was studying her like she was a familiar da Vinci painting that revealed new secrets upon each viewing.

  “No, I didn’t think so. So, something else then. What could it be, I wonder?”

  She yanked her hand away. “Now you’re just making fun of me. I may not be as worldly as you are, but I’m not perfect either. I suggest you remember that.”

  “You’re only making me more curious.”

  “Well, you know what they say. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ I’ll be in touch.”

  His deep, husky chuckle made her belly quiver as she walked out of his office.

  A curious Clayton was a dangerous one.

  And he was already dangerous enough.

  Chapter 7

  Susannah clicked her cell phone off before she entered the coffee shop she’d suggested to Amelia Ann for their meeting. Cream & Sugar’s walls were a bold red, paired with black and white accents. The Dare River establishment shared the funky design of the other local boutiques and was one of her favorites. The music was jazzy, but it played in a soft undertone so people could talk.

  The clientele was mostly suburban. There were plenty of business professionals typing briskly on their laptops, but truth be told, she’d chosen the place because at this time of day it was mobbed by mamas watching their babies play in the children’s corner. She loved being around kids—anytime, anywhere. If art hadn’t seized her heart and soul in college, she would have become a teacher.

  When she scanned the room, she saw Amelia Ann had already arrived. Her friend rose from a table in a corner and set aside a yellow legal pad and pen so she could hug her hello.

  “Hey there,” she said brightly. “I’m glad this worked out. This is the first time I’ve been able to lure you away to meet me other than on Sundays.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry,” Amelia Ann responded, stuffing her papers into a leather satchel. “My schedule is really full right now.”

  “So, how are things?” she asked, signaling a server. Heavens, but she could use a cup of tea.

  “Fine. Still getting used to my new schedule. Everyone was right. The second year of law school is much easier than the first. Thank God. But…there’s still a lot to do.”

  She sensed her friend was holding something back, but she didn’t press. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said as the server appeared. “Jasmine green tea, please, with lemon and honey.”

  “Good choice,” Amelia Ann said as the server nodded and took off. “I decided to treat myself to a mocha instead of black coffee since I have a long day. Whoever first thought to put chocolate in coffee should be kissed and often.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she said, crossing her legs under the table. “So, tell me what I can do to help with the concert.”

  Of course, she had her own thoughts on what they could do to make the concert special, but she wanted to hear her friend’s ideas first.

  The server returned almost immediately with her tea, but after checking the color of the water in the pot, Susannah decided to let it steep a little more.

  “Well, let me run you through the program so far. We're going to create three features on women who have overcome domestic violence. I’ll work with the heads of the local women’s shelters to compile a list of about ten women, and then you, me, and Clayton can choose our top three. Rye gave Clayton the final say. Rather, Clayton insisted on it.”

  From the way her mouth pinched as she said that, it was obvious she wasn’t pleased. Susannah had known Clayton since his first days with J.P. at Vanderbilt. He’d changed a lot over the years, going from a preppy country boy to a hard-edged cowboy, business type. He was friendly, but not someone she gravitated toward at J.P.’s gatherings. Now, Rye. Well, he’d always been fun. Outrageous, sure, but harmless. At least with J.P.’s younger sisters.

  “What are you thinking visually?”

  The tea was ready when she checked again so she poured it into the cup and added lemon and honey. The first sip was sheer delight.

  “The crew who shoots Rye’s music videos will do the spots. I haven’t followed up with Clayton yet, but I don’t think it should be a question and answer format. I think it would be more powerful if they just narrated their stories, including photos from their lives.”

  “Yes, it personalizes a difficult subject,” she said, happy to hear they were thinking along the same lines. “I was thinking I could assemble a collage as a digital backdrop for the concert. It wouldn’t be up the whole time, of course, but maybe it can be shown for a song or two after he talks about the topic? Rye and Clayton can figure out the timing.”

  Amelia Ann started writing down notes on her legal pad. “I like it. Go on.”

  She took a deep breath before continuing. “What I’m envisioning is pretty…well, ballsy, but I can’t stomach the idea of watering down this topic. Domestic violence involves brutality, and I want to showcase both the reality and desolation of abuse and the radiance and strength of the survivors. I figure if the women can talk about the abuse they suffered, maybe they’ll agree to share pictures of what they looked like after being hit—as well as now.”

  Amelia Ann’s brow was knit now, and Susannah paused. “Are you flat-out appalled by my idea?”

  “I’m not appalled,” her friend said thoughtfully, her hands gripping her coffee cup now. “You’re right. We want to achieve the maximum impact here. But I won’t lie to you. It will cause some controversy, make some people uncomfortable.”

  “The best art always does,” Susannah added, feeling the anxious pulse of her heart. “Do you think the women will agree to be represented that way?”r />
  She took her time answering. “I think most will. They want the full truth to be known.”

  Didn’t her mama always say telling the truth was the only way to be free? “We’d need photos from the women featured, but I don’t think we should limit it to three. The concert backdrops I’ve seen are huge. Perhaps we can include all the women who submitted their stories for the feature—if they’re willing to share the photos, of course. That way we aren’t excluding anyone’s triumph. And it goes without saying that we’d only accept women who are now in healthy situations.”

  “I love it! I’ll speak with the heads of the women’s shelters in town to secure their support,” Amelia Ann said eagerly, scribbling frantically now. “We’d need a legal release for the photos, but we can handle that.”

  “Wonderful,” she said with relief, tracing the rim of her cup as her mind assembled the photos she imagined receiving. A uniform color for the backgrounds would add to the effect. Her mind was already buzzing with ideas, her heart thumping in excitement—like they always did when she was jazzed about a new project. She jumped when Amelia Ann seized her hand.

  “This is going to be awesome. We’re going to make such a difference with this concert, Susannah.”

  A drooling toddler she’d been making eyes at earlier streaked away from his mama and made a beeline for Susannah. She gave the blond cherub a grin, fighting the urge to run her hand through his curls. She had to be careful with other people’s kids. They loved her. All kids seemed to. But some parents were fearful of strangers.

  “Hey there, sweetie. Did you escape from your mama?” she asked as the little guy laid a hand on her leg.

  “Up,” the boy demanded, holding out his arms.

  “I’m so sorry,” his mama said as she ran up behind him. She scooped the little one up into her arms. “Howie, you mustn’t run away from mama.”